Watts looked at his hands.
‘If only I did.’
John Hathaway had a problem with the Palace Pier people. The Boroni family were long gone and for decades it had been a legitimate enterprise. Hathaway had left it at that. He’d moved on from piers when the West Pier closed for good in 1975.
But lately he’d got back in via the West Pier development. And in consequence he’d been getting grief from the new owners of the Palace Pier. Niggly things. Stewart Nealson was supposed to find out who was backing the new owners but he hadn’t got anywhere before his terrible demise. Hathaway thought for a moment. Or maybe he had got somewhere.
And then they’d torched the West Pier. Hathaway was in no doubt the new mystery owners of the Palace Pier were behind that. So now it was payback time.
His phone rang. He had his feet propped up on the rail of his boat, looking out over the marina. He reached over.
‘Yeah?’
‘Is it a go?’
‘It’s a go. We’re gonna fuck ’em during that party on the beach. Do you remember last time DJ Dickhead did his thing? The entire beach was mobbed. People pissing where they stood because they couldn’t move. The entire city gridlocked right out on to the Downs, west to Worthing and east to Eastbourne, and nobody getting anywhere near the London Road.’
‘So excuse my asking, but how do we get away?’
‘By sea, you idiot. Just like those guys who firebombed the West Pier. The thing is, there’s no way anyone can stop us.’
‘Are we going armed?’
Hathaway didn’t even bother to reply.
The boat came in from the east. Hathaway was watching from the window of his room at Blake’s Hotel. He could see people streaming past the entrance to the Palace Pier, heading for the sound of the music. The promenade was a solid mass of them.
He could hear the music clearly. On the beach it must have been overwhelming.
He saw the boat slow as the driver eased up on the throttle. It sent out a long wave in its wake as it curved into the far end of the pier.
He saw the line go out to secure the boat to a thick stanchion. Secured, the boat bobbed on the waves. Hathaway adjusted the binoculars and looked at the deck of the pier. It was crowded with people facing towards the west, towards the music.
Hathaway focused on a door at the back of a solid-looking building on the pier. After a few moments it opened and four men in jeans and denim jackets spilled out. All were wearing balaclavas.
They each carried rucksacks on their backs. Without looking back they walked to the edge of the pier and looked down at the boat. One by one they clambered over the side and down a rusted ladder to the boat.
The first dropped easily into the boat. The second paused as the boat dipped in the swell. One-handed he took his rucksack and dropped it into the boat. The third and fourth lowered themselves in.
The driver reached out and unhooked the rope. The boat roared away from the pier, heading out to sea. It would be in Varengevilles-sur-mer within three hours.
Hathaway smiled and turned back to the girl sitting up in bed. She saw the expression on his face.
‘Has it taken effect?’
‘Oh yes,’ he said, walking towards her.
SEVENTEEN
Hathaway and Tingley went up to see Hathaway in his mansion on Tongdean Drive.
A black man in a well-cut grey suit answered the door.
‘For Mr Hathaway,’ Watts said.
The man looked him up and down, nodded. Then he looked at Tingley. Smiled.
‘Hello, Tingles.’
Tingley held out his hand.
‘David. You’re looking trim.’
‘You too,’ David said, shaking the offered hand.
‘You’re out of the business in one piece, then,’ Tingley said.
David glanced at Watts.
‘Bob here is a good friend of mine,’ Tingley said.
Watts stuck out his hand.
‘Bob Watts.’
David took the offered hand.
‘If Tingley vouches for you-’
‘I definitely do. He’s the ex-chief constable-’
David kept hold of Watts’s hand.
‘The one who got busted for standing up for his men?’
‘And women,’ Tingley said.
David clapped his other hand over the hand clasp.
‘Pleased to meet an officer who knows what his primary function is.’
Watts let go.
Hathaway appeared in the doorway behind David. He saw Tingley, the dapper, slender man he’d met some months earlier and decided he liked. The big, broad-shouldered blond man with the broken nose he recognized from the press as ex-Chief Constable Bob Watts.
‘If you’re finished with the love-in, Dave, perhaps you’d bring your friends through – where your boss is patiently waiting. Sometime this year would be favourite.’
David turned and grinned.
‘Sorry, Mr H. Mr Tingley and Mr Watts.’
‘Well, I can see that for myself, can’t I?’ He looked at Watts. ‘I don’t know why I bother. Try to ease the unemployment statistics and look what you get.’
‘If David is typical of who you’re hiring,’ Tingley said, looking at Watts, ‘then you’re hiring the best.’
Hathaway dropped his arm on David’s shoulder and winked at Watts.
‘David? He’s just the trainee. Coming along nicely, though.’
‘Thanks, Mr H.,’ David said.
‘All right, hop off and polish your medals or whatever it is you do for your extravagant salary all day. Come in, gentlemen, do. Mr Tingley – not an unalloyed pleasure to see you again but anyway. And ex-Chief Constable Bob Watts – I know you only by repute – though I did know your father. How is the old rogue?’
Watts was thrown by mention of his father.
‘He’s fine, thanks – how do you know him?’
‘Well, Bob – OK to do first names?’ Watts nodded. ‘Well, Bob, that’s a bit of a convoluted story – but who knows – if we make an afternoon of it there may be time.’
Hathaway took them up to a mezzanine where one whole wall was a window. He pressed a button and the window slid open. He led them on to a deep balcony enclosed in more glass. Another button and the glass retracted. Half a dozen ample wicker armchairs were spread across the balcony.
‘Sit, sit. I’m about to have a mojito – my girls make great mojitos – and you’re welcome to join me.’
‘I don’t know what it is but I’ll give it a try,’ Watts said. Tingley nodded. Hathaway raised three fingers and waved them towards a beautiful olive-skinned young woman hovering by a doorway.
‘You obviously don’t have kids who hit the cocktail bars,’ Hathaway said.
‘I probably do,’ Watts said.
